As I watched my eldest child use her texta to smash her biscuits up into tiny pieces all over the kitchen table and onto the floor, I wondered how my life got to this point.
“Stop doing that,” I told her firmly. “Stop doing that because I am the one who will have to crawl around on my hands and knees and clean it up and I don’t want to have to do that.”
“No,” she replied cheekily and with a touch of Satan.
“What do you think I am?” I said softly. “Do you think I enjoy spending my days running around after the three of you and cleaning up your messes? Don’t you think I’d rather be doing something else with my life, not just being your personal cleaner?”
“What?,” she said, reaching for another piece of paper to draw on, pushing more crumbs onto the floor with her sleeve.
“Don’t you think there’s more to my life than just cleaning?,” I wailed, thinking how did I get here?
“Can I have something to eat?” she asked, not looking up from her drawing.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough,” I replied. “You know what child. When you get bigger I am going to come over to your house with a hammer and a packet of biscuits and I am going to squash them up all over your kitchen table so crumbs go everywhere and then you can tell me what you think about it all then. OK. I mean it, I will do that.”
“How are you going to do that?” she asked.
“With a hammer,” I said. “With a big, big hammer.”
“No,” she replied. “How are you going to do that when you don’t know where I live?”
“I’ll ask your Dad where you’re living,” I said with a serious look on my face, yet silently laughing at her quick-witted response.
“He won’t know where I live either,” she smiled. “I won’t tell either of you where I live.”
“Ok then,” I said, happy that she’d even thought about leaving the house. “When do you think you might move out?”
“When I’m twenty,” she said, her five-year-old self bursting with pride on how she’d deflected my crazy.
“Good,” I smirked. “Twenty it is. And remember, even if you don’t tell us where you’re moving to, we’ll still find you. You will never escape us. Know that. Now clean up the crumbs.”
“What do you think I am?” she protested. “Your slave or something.”
And with that Miss E, the middle-child, held up her pretzel and yelled: “BOOBS”.
What’s life in your house like?
Oh I love it. It’s what I have to come with my two little girls. G my 2.5yo is getting cheekier by the day.. She has started calling me “Big bum”.. And so it begins! X
am laughing at something that I instantly recognise. You trying to express your displeasure, them being so quick off the mark with their response that you are in awe of them but still cranky. Here, it is usually it is punctuated by Miss 4 doing a trucky-style burp. Coz we’re classy.
Well! The nerve of that kid! Smashing up her biscuits then asking if she could have something to eat! (yes, my tongue is in my cheek). Tell her she already had something and point out the biscuit crumbs. Remind her the next offering of food won’t be until dinnertime. Relax! She won’t starve in such a short time, but she might think twice about smashing her biscuit nxt time.
Very funny…. And very clever! I feel your pain. My boy once told me about a fish , I forget what it’s called now. He told me that it hoovers up everything in the place… Just like you mum! Then he laughed at his cleverness! Kids, eh?
i in a fit of pique at my sons for having a similiar arguamet with me emptied there tub of cars andforced them to clean it up, then i did it again and forced them to clean it up (through their crying,,, i know i am horrid) and then i said that is what it feels like to mum! it worked for about 8 days. Still 8 days: worth it
brilliant! laughed out loud. Sorry about the biscuit crumbs, but kudos to your middle child for defusing the situation in such a creative way. Thanks for sharing 😀
Love. It. BOOBS!
Bah ha ha! Yeah that sounds like my everyday… sigh
Oh, you peeked into my life. What a gorgeous post.
“We’ll still find you. Know that. Now clean up the crumbs.”
Oh, funny!!! Same in my house. Except I would have uttered an inaudible “effing” amongst that demand somewhere.